Answer Me

Chapter 4

My after-class activities usually involved creeping on the McDonoughs' Twitter accounts, replying tweets, and listening to more-than-one-hour playlist of Before You Exit's songs. I did sound like a lifeless teenage girl but in case if any of you didn't know, this was basically the life of a fangirl. Not including re-watching interview sessions of the band.

While fixing a typo in my tweet, there was a call coming in. Mom. Ha-ha. I hadn't called her for almost a week. She must be worried.

"Hello, Mom." I answered in the most cheerful tone I could fake to hide the nonchalance and laziness in my voice. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm good. Why is it so hard for you to call me? Don't you know that if something happens to you, I might not know? Don't do this again okay?" I let her talk first. I had expected that anyway.

"Mom. Don't worry. I'm doing great. Your daughter has grown up and she's not that crybaby anymore. So, no worries okay?" Mom always assumed that I still acted like a kid. Back when I was in elementary school, I was spoilt by my grandparents. I used to cry if I didn't get anything I wanted and I cried so badly if my mother is out of my sight at public places. That was quite embarrassing.

"How's college?"

"Um, normal. Good. But can you believe that after months, my lecturer can't even remember me?"

"Oh dear. Maybe your lecturer has many students. It's hard to remember such many students."

"But Mom, you know me. I participate a lot in class and I'm the top scorer for each test, for God's sake. Aren't they enough for the lecturer to at least remember a Quinn in the class?" I usually didn't tell Mom things like this. We had different thoughts and opinions most of the time. Even her outfits are colorful compared to my dull and just-came-back-from-the-dark-side clothes.

"Erin. You should not be worried about that. I know you have done your best. Don't think about that too much. You're a great student."

"No, I'm just telling you. I'm okay." Tell me again how I reacted this afternoon. "Mom, do you think I'm...not pleasing to the eye?" No mother in the world would response negatively but, I just needed to ask.

"No. Of course not." She hesitated for a while before she continued, "But maybe you need a little bit of colors and touch of fashion."

"What if I don't like it? And I don't want it."

"Erin, honey. You're just 19. You might say like that now but who knows you'll have some kind of transformation later? Then, we'll see who will be the one who spend hours in front of the mirror, preening." She laughed at the edge of her words. I rolled my eyes at that. Mom didn't really know me well actually because I was quite a different person at home. If only she could see how stubborn I was with my friends.

"Mom. You would never understand me. Never mind then. I got to go. Talk to you later."

"Don't think about your appearance too much okay? Bye." Beep.

I sat cross-legged in the middle of my bed. Ann was sleeping on her bed. She still looked beautiful even without make-up despite the tiny zits. Her lashes were long and her straight black hair was so soft and shiny. I brought my hands to my face.

Yikes.

I ran my fingers across my nose. Ugh. Oily like McDonald's French fries.

I touched my cheeks, my forehead and my chin again and again. Eww. The small acnes felt like sand on my face. The mega breakout on my forehead and my left cheek were like red peanut M&M's.

I held a few strands of my hair and studied the end of my hair. Okay, I got split ends. Terrible enough. The ringlets were entwined to each other and I bet my comb couldn't pass through them.

I stared into the big mirror at the corner of our room. There was a reflection of ghost in it. A very hideous ghost. I rose from my bed and walked towards it. The zits and scars looked worse than the crates on the surface of the moon. At least, the moon illuminated so, it would always look divine in the dark sky full of stars that were always there to groom how it would look like from the earth.

Since I learned to watch the world in an adolescent perspective, I had always known that I wasn't born to be beautiful like other girls. I had always realized the fact that I wouldn't be looked as a decent teenage girl, pleasing in the eye and graceful.

People kept saying 'Love yourself' or 'Appreciate yourself' or 'You're beautiful just the way you are.' They had never been a big help to me because the society itself stared at me like my looks was just not right to be among them. The society itself called others with bad names. The society itself criticized a great singer for her looks. Maybe not all of them but, most of them did.

Then, there was a girl named Erin Quinn among them. A misfit among them. A misfit in the female community. I looked back at my sleeping roommate. How I wish I was naturally good-looking like her. Like Ali. Like Mom. Like other girls.

At that thought, tears cascaded down my cheeks. I bit my lip so that Ann wouldn't hear my sobbing.

Did I deserve to be accepted as a decent female?